


Two Miserable People Meeting at a Wedding

by barricadeofmedusa



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:58:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2488523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barricadeofmedusa/pseuds/barricadeofmedusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is the only one of his friends who is single. Except Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac the betrayer who left Grantaire alone at the table at Marius' wedding reception. Technically, Enjolras came to Cosette's wedding as Combeferre's plus one, but they're not together. He doesn't really know Cosette well and he definitely doesn't know the man with the black curls sitting alone at the table by the dancefloor. He'd like to though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Miserable People Meeting at a Wedding

It was Marius and Cosette’s wedding. Marius and Cosette’s sickeningly sweet wedding. All pink bows and doves and fairy floss. Grantaire hadn’t even been meaning to go. In fact, if it hadn’t have been for Jehan’s meddling ways, he would have been at work, with a viable excuse for skipping the wedding of a sort-of-friend-acquaintance. But no. Jehan, the sneaky bastard, had managed to find all of Grantaire’s workplaces to ensure he had the day off. From the café to the theatres and shelters he volunteered at, he’d even managed to convince that stubborn supervisor at the art gallery he had a standing Saturday shift with.

“It’s a _wedding_ , Grantaire. You have to go. Marius will be devastated if you don’t.”

Grantaire wasn’t actually sure Marius knew who he was. Their connection really was more because they just happened to have a lot of the same friends. But with no viable excuses left, and a nagging Jehan on one arm, Grantaire reluctantly agreed to go. At the very least, he thought, there’d be free food and an open bar tab.

He dusted off his suit, picked out a garishly ridiculous gift (Cosette and Marius were both trust fund babies. T hey could afford to furnish their new house-slash-mansion-slash-penthouse apartment without his help.), and resigned himself to a night of watching happy couples being horrifyingly lovey-dovey and feeling completely and utterly alone himself.

All his friends were pairing off. Well no, Joly and Bossuet had been together forever so they didn’t count, but everyone else had been falling together in the past few months like there was something infectious in the air. Cosette and Marius. Bahorel and Feuilly. Even Jehan had some mysterious Tinder girl he kept giggling over.

And Courfeyrac? Courfeyrac the betrayer? Grantaire had been counting on commiserating with Courfeyrac over their mutual singledom and possibly propositioning him to blow off the reception and blow him instead. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But Courfeyrac had stopped talking mid-sentence before Grantaire had the chance to, and bounded across the ballroom floor. He now appeared to be chatting up some bewildered guy in glasses with a suit most definitely tailored. And well, Grantaire couldn’t begrudge him that.

He’d still had fun. Sort of. For a limited definition of ‘fun’.

The church had been pretty. Marius had cried. Cosette had cried. Cosette’s father had cried. Even _Bahorel_ had sniffled a little at the vows. Grantaire had that on camera.

It had been okay during dinner. A full seven courses with a table of his closest friends, laughing and joking and with wine flowing freely? Yeah, that was worth coming along for. But once the cheese had started coming out, and couple by couple had decided they were too full to continue but not too full to hit the dance floor, Grantaire’s evening had been sliding downhill.

He stared at the empty bottles of wine on their table, and then over at the untouched bottles on the next table over. He could take one. He was running low. Weddings were an accepted event to get smashed drunk at, right? Wine was meant for drinking, after all, and it had already been paid for. He nursed his half-empty glass, swirling it in one hand to watch the light catch on the red. And then he drained it. Right. Time for more wine. He leant back to reach the other table and his head collided with something solid but warm. No. Wait. Someone.

Grantaire looked up and blinked. His fingers itched for a paintbrush, a pencil, anything. Surely he was hallucinating and a Greek god stood over him with a head of curls spun from gold and eyes as blue as the sky on a warm summer’s day. Or if not a god, then the son of one, too perfect to have been born entirely of this world. Features too proportioned, skin too smooth, lips entirely too enticing to be real. A statue then. A marble statue too expertly carved for this day and age. A relic of an idealised past. Antonius. Apollo. Achilles.

“Enjolras, actually.” Said the marble, “Not a god. Flattered, bit not a god. Wine?” And he held up the bottle of red swiped from the other table.

Grantaire groaned and only just managed to stop himself from slamming his head down onto the table or crawling under it to hide.

“Did I really just…no. Wait. You brought wine. You’re a god. Sit, please.”

Enjolras sat, a slight flush in his cheeks.

“Do you call everyone you bump into gods or…?”

Grantaire groaned again. “Please forget that. You weren’t meant to hear it. Lost my brain filter or something. Seriously, you should come with a warning.”

“Beware, hallucinations?”

“More like ‘don’t stare directly at the sun.’”

Enjolras blushed again. He poured them each a glass of wine and they fell into a companionable silence.

“So…” Enjolras said after awhile, “who dragged you here?”

Grantaire huffed. “That obvious, is it? Well it’s Marius that I know. Sort of. He happened to meet an old friend of mine one day – Courfeyrac, he’s over there – and one thing led to another and now he knows basically all of my friends too so here I am. But it’s Jehan who forced me to take the day off and it’s Courfeyrac again who left me at the table when we were meant to be bitter old singles together.” He gestured around the room, pointing out with surprising accuracy each of his friends as he mentions them.

“That’s your friend over there?” Enjolras nodded at Courfeyrac with obvious interest.

Grantaire’s heart sank. “Yeah. That’s Courfeyrac. You uh…want me to introduce you or something?”

“What? No! It’s just…that’s my friend he’s with. Combeferre. He’s the one who made me come today. I mean I sort of know Cosette but we’re not close. Combeferre’s known Marius for awhile though. Technically I guess I’m his plus one? But it’s not like that. We’ve never…I mean, he’s obviously smitten with your…Courfeyrac did you say? Hasn’t even looked for me since and he knows I don’t know anyone here.”

Grantaire smiled. “Yeah, that’s Courf for you. Once something’s snagged his interest, he throws everything he’s got at it. He’s somewhat terrifying and inspiring to watch on the pull. Not that he’s uhh…I’ve never quite seen him like this with anyone before?”

“It’s okay. We’re all adults here. I’m more fascinated by how Combeferre is acting, actually. I’ve known him since we were 5 and as far as I know, he’s never dated or shown interest in anyone.” Enjolras paused. “Do I need to go give the ‘hurt-him-and-I-will-end-you’ speech do you think?”

“Nah, Courfeyrac is pretty good with those cues. He’s already turned it down since they’ve started talking.”

Enjolras looked at him, incredulous. “That’s toned down?”

Courfeyrac had just ‘dropped his phone’ and leant down to grab it, giving Combeferre a perfect view of his tightly-clad arse. Combeferre, meanwhile, had gone as bright red as his glass of wine, clearly torn between staring or looking frantically around the room instead.

“Well…let’s face it. He knows what he’s got and how to use it.”

“Speaking from personal experience?”

Grantaire shrugged.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have…Let’s stop talking about those terrible friends who have abandoned us. Tell me about yourself.”

“There’s really not much to tell.”

“We’ve never met. I won’t be able to fault you if you make it up. Go on.”

Grantaire grinned and started spinning an appallingly elaborate story about how he had a secret identity as an art forger and was currently casing the joint in preparation for stealing all of the paintings on the far wall. He’d gotten up to pointing out Cosette’s maid of honour as a spy set on his trail and his detailed escape plan from the reception via hot air balloon when Enjolras burst out laughing.

“Stop. Stop please.” He gasped between breaths. “Okay, we’ve definitely established you’re good at storytelling.”

“Bullshitting, more like.”

“Was any of that real?”

“Some. I paint. Not enough to forge, really, but I get by on my own stuff.”

Enjolras bit his lip, not entirely sure how to continue.

“And that hot air balloon of yours…want to go…”

“Blow off some steam?” Grantaire smirked.

“Yeah. Yeah, that.” Enjolras could feel himself starting to blush again.

Grantaire stared at him. “Did I…just get propositioned by a Greek god?”

“Technically I think you did you own propositioning. But yes. I mean. If you…want?”

Grantaire stook so quickly he almost knocked his chair over.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“There’s a hotel room with my name on it upstairs, since I’m fairly sure neither of us are fit to drive.”

Enjolras nodded eagerly and then frowned.

“About that. What exactly is your name?”

“It’s Grantaire. But you can call me whatever you like in bed.” He winked.

 


End file.
